


Syrup

by Mirimea



Series: Rags to Rags 'verse [3]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Popsicles, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirimea/pseuds/Mirimea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knew summers in Utah could be so hot? McKinley/Price, plotless, self-indulgent ficlet. Part of the Rags to Rags 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Syrup

**Author's Note:**

> Established relationship, self-indulgent, plotless, just a little bit of fun.

Who knew summers in Utah could be so hot? Connor quenches the thought as soon as it enters his mind because really, _really?_ after spending roughly a year in Uganda without even the slightest possibility of air condition, and now he thinks _this_ is hot? The human mind truly forgets quickly. But their auditorium is stuffy on the coolest of days; today the heat had felt like a heavy blanket that made the air too thick to breathe. The students in his summer class had been unenthused and Connor had been impatient to simply finish this week, go home and enjoy the weekend already.

Turns out, despite the light breeze, the intense sunshine makes even the outside air almost as unbearable. When Connor rounds the corner at their apartment building, he notes that someone has tied a dog in the shade of a nearby tree; the dog looks almost wilted, wagging its tail tiredly. Connor makes a mental note to bring the poor mutt some water. Or ask Kevin to do it; he knows how much his boyfriend likes dogs, and Connor himself prefers to keep them at some distance.

But when Connor gets inside, their apartment is empty. He walks into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, leaning against the counter as he tries to remember if Kevin had said something about his work schedule today.

His mind draws a blank, but then Connor hears keys turn in the lock. He walks into the hallway to greet his boyfriend.

Instead of a kiss, Connor is met by a package of something cold thrust into his hands by an annoyed-looking Kevin. “Here, put these in the freezer before they melt. I’m going to give a dog outside some water.”

With that, Kevin toes his shoes off and walks past him into the kitchen.

Connor looks down at the package of Popsicles, shrugs and follows Kevin into the kitchen, stuffing the package into their freezer while Kevin fills an old plastic ice cream container with water.

“Air conditioning,” Kevin says over the sound of pouring water. “I mean, we live in a civilized country now. Why don’t we have air conditioning at home?” Tests of his hair are damp and plastered to his forehead, Connor notes now, secretly pleased because a disheveled Kevin is his favorite even though he knows how annoyed Kevin gets when his body betrays him by not looking perfect.

“Because that would bump up the price of this place to something way out of our price class?”

Kevin snorts at him and walks off, the water splashing in the container as he goes.

When he gets back a couple of minutes later, Connor meets him by the door again, this time handing him an unwrapped orange Popsicle. He taps his own purple one against Kevin’s. “Happy weekend.”

Some of the irritation melts off Kevin’s face. “I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Connor hip-bumps him on their way to the living room, has to catch himself on the door frame when Kevin bumps back.

They end up on the couch, one corner each, stretching out the best they can. And even Connor, who much prefers to look on the bright side of things, secretly agrees with Kevin because air conditioning right now would be _heavenly_.

“No coffee shop tomorrow,” Kevin says dreamily between sucking and biting on his Popsicle. He always eat them like a little kid, no inhibitions, sometimes pausing to lick at the bottom where the melted syrup is starting to drip over his fingers. “And you’re not volunteering tomorrow, right?” When Connor doesn’t answer he pauses. “Right?”

Connor blinks as he is brought back to the moment. “Right.”

Kevin gives him a look that’s somewhere between confused and suspicious. “You okay?”

He can feel himself flush, though it might just be the heat. “Sure.” He shifts and turns his body, feeling almost uncertain for just a moment the way he for some reason _still_ does before leaning in to kiss Kevin’s ice-cold, orange-tasting lips. Kevin leans into it, kisses him back, and Connor has a moment that feels almost like a revelation because things are just so fine. Like, what did he ever do to deserve this feeling of satisfaction?

Then Kevin makes a sound against Connor’s mouth, moves away. “You’re dripping,” he complains, touching his neck with his hand.

Connor squints at him, then realizes that Kevin means the Popsicle that Connor had been holding awkwardly somewhere behind Kevin’s head, nothing else. Kevin’s hand had come back smeared with purple syrup. “Oh, sorry.”

Kevin grins at him, licking off his fingers as he leans back, then licking at the orange syrup that is dripping from his own Popsicle before it is in danger of falling on the couch or the floor. “It’s fine. It’s too hot for that anyway.”

Connor mentally disagrees, but goes with it. They sit in companionable silence for a while as they finish their ice.

“What are we making for dinner?” Connor asks after a while, twirling the wooden stick between his fingers. He can do it quite elegantly by now, he thinks with satisfaction.

Kevin gives him a somewhat sheepish look. “I don’t know. I only thought to buy the Popsicles.” At Connor’s mock glare he holds up his hands. “It was an emergency. We could’ve over-heated.”

“Very true,” Connor agrees. “We were in danger there for a while.”

Kevin, who is closest to the window, bends his neck to try and catch a glimpse. When it seems to fail, he stands up and walks over to the window. “I think someone picked up the dog.”

“That’s good.”

“Mm.” Kevin turns back to Connor again. He holds out a hand to take the wooden stick. “Want another one?”

Connor thinks about how they should probably make dinner. Then he thinks about a lazy day off, and how their apartment feels slightly less hot than an oven. He gives Kevin the stick, but stands up as well to follow Kevin into the kitchen. “Sure.”

As he walks a step behind Kevin, he notes that the purple syrup has created a stain on the back collar of Kevin’s otherwise white work shirt. He reaches out with a hand, rubs at the spot with his finger.

Kevin waits a step for him, hip-bumps him again when he catches up; Connor bumps back.

Weekends are good.  

 


End file.
